Fathers' Day
by TheYoungTimpani
Summary: A collection of one shots showing interaction between the characters and their fathers or father-figures or children.
1. Jimmy Palmer

**Disclaimer:** Don't own NCIS. If I did, I would be somewhere where the high temperature is a little more 81 (the high temperature in Los Angeles today) and a little less 102 (the heat index for today where I live).

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, on Fathers' Day, I got the idea to write a fic with each of the characters interacting with a father or a father-figure and I remembered the comment Palmer made about his name and just sorta ran with that. I still can't believe that I looked down at a sheet of paper and thought, "Man, I _cannot wait_ to write for Jimmy Palmer." This takes place in Palmer's childhood.

* * *

**Main Character:** Jimmy Palmer

* * *

It was the picture of Americana. On a sunny, suburban front lawn, a tall, handsome man gently pitched a baseball to his son.

Of course, in the picture, that would have been followed by the crack of fire-treated ash making contact with well-worn leather. However, in reality, the pitch was followed by a huffing grunt as Jimmy swung the bat a split-second after the ball whizzed past.

"Just a little late, Jim, you'll get it," his father coached, "Choke up on the bat this time."

Jimmy sat down the bat, picked up the ball, and threw it to his father in an awkward movement that set his Coke-bottle glasses askew. Despite the errant nature of the throw, his dad was able to easily capture the ball in his mitt.

Jimmy sighed, his dad wanted so badly for him to be good at baseball; he'd even named him after a baseball player. Jimmy, however, did not share his father's love or skill for the game and even went by 'Jimmy' at school rather than 'Jim' like his father called him.

It was on days like this, though, that Jimmy wished he was good at baseball.

Days where his dad spent hours gently coaching him on his batting stance, his grip, his swing, his throw, the way he stood in the outfield, the proper way to slide into a base.

Days when they would go to the sporting goods store and his dad would insist on buying his son a _real_ Louisville Slugger bat and Wilson glove because that's what they used in the big leagues and then he'd go home and show his son how to properly wrap a glove to break it in, then use his own to teach him how to oil a glove.

Days when Jimmy listened to stories about his dad growing up and wanting to play for the Baltimore Orioles, but had blown his shoulder in high school.

It was days like this that made him wish he were Jim.

But every swing throwing him off balance, every baseball that hit his glove and dropped to the ground, every throw that careened five feet off its mark reminded him that he was Jimmy.

Jimmy's throw fell about two feet in front of his dad, but the older man just smiled and picked up the baseball. He held it out in front of him and said, "You watchin', son? Here it comes."

He gently pitched the ball right to Jimmy who swung the bat and felt relieved when her heard the pop of the bat making contact.

He opened the eyes that he had closed tight and looked up just in time to see the baseball strike an overhanging branch of the sprawling oak that shaded them. The branch sent the ball zooming into the fence. Bouncing off the fence, the ball continued on its path. Then, with a metallic thud that made Jimmy wince, the baseball slammed into the garage door and left a sizable dent.

He dropped the bat to his side and hung his head in shame. His eyes began to blur with tears that were threatening to fall. Then he felt something that made the tears stop, his father's hand rested warmly on his shoulder. He looked up and saw his dad smiling down at him

"I'm sorry, Dad," Jimmy whispered.

"Don't worry about the door, Jim."

"No, Dad, I'm sorry I'm not any good at baseball. I know how much it means to you-"

"Hey, hey, hey," his father said, kneeling down to his son's level, "Don't you worry about that. Baseball...baseball was my dream. One day, you'll find something that you love and I _know _you'll be great at whatever it is. Don't worry about baseball, you've got your whole life ahead of you. You've never been a disappointment and you never will be. Just find something you can put your whole heart into and work as hard as you can. You've got a bright future, Jimmy, even if it isn't on the diamond."

Jimmy smiled at his dad who said, "Now we better go and call someone about that door before your mom comes home."

Together, they walked into the house and Jimmy felt the weight fly off his shoulders knowing that his dad was just as proud of Jimmy as he would have been of Jim.

* * *

**A.N.: **You know, this is a short story, wouldn't have figured that it'd have taken me as long as it did to write it. However, I wrote it while trying to watch Wipeout...which means I was watching Wipeout while this story sat on a clipboard in my lap...Wipeout is the world's greatest guilty pleasure.


	2. Leon Vance

**Disclaimer: **I don't own NCIS...its too hot outside to come up with anything witty.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know, I'm taking a risk with this one because there are a lot of people who really don't like this character. I'll admit, I'm still figuring him out and not entirely sure about him, but I've certainly warmed up to him more than I thought I would. However, this chapter is incredibly short. Seriously, its a tiny little chapter, so surely you can suffer through that much Vance.

* * *

**Main Character: **Leon Vance

* * *

As much as he loved his new job, there were times when Leon Vance hated it twice as much. This was one of those times. He and his kids had been planning their Fathers' Day outing all month. He was going to take them to the air and space museum to see a movie in the IMAX theater and generally play tourist in their new hometown.

Then his job came up, like these things tend to do, and he had no choice but to rush to pack and board a flight to Los Angeles. He had tried to convince them to go without him, but they pointed out that it was pointless to try and celebrate _Fathers_' Day when their father was on the other side of the continent. He had smiled and promised to make it up to them when he returned. He told them to be good for their mother and hugged them both goodbye. He kissed his wife and hurried away; it wouldn't look good if the director of NCIS was late on his own plane.

He didn't even have time to unpack his suitcase before he got wrapped up in the trouble-of-the-day at the ever-busy L.A. field office. He ended up, much to his displeasure, working through the night and, when everything finally calmed down at 6 a.m., he got to go to his hotel room.

He threw his suitcase down on the bead and opened it, ready to finally get some sleep, but there was something sitting on top of his belongings. On top of his clothes sat a folded sheet of white paper. He picked it up and opened it.

'_Happy Fathers' Day, Dad. I love you, Lily_.'

'_Happy Fathers' Day. Stay safe, Dad. Love, Jared._'

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the sheet of paper with a smile, then pulled out his cell phone and made a call, "Hey, Jackie, are the kids awake yet?"

* * *

**A.N.: **My brother's letting his cheerleader show as he tries to strike sexy poses to Hungry Like The Wolf...gosh, its awful.

You know what, Tuesdays must be good TV magnets or something, because I watched Memphis Beat last night and loved it...part of that love is because they're one episode in and they've already acknowledged Arkansas three times as much as The Weather Channel when they're showing radar images of the southeast. Which is sad, because all Memphis Beat did is show the 'Welcome to Arkansas' sign from three different angles as Dwight and the police crossed the DeSoto bridge chasing the bad guy. Southern Missouri and Northern Texas? Really, Weather Channel? Can't see that funny shaped state and its 2 million people in between Missouri and Texas? Lamesauce.


	3. Abby Sciuto

**Disclaimer: **Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude. No.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Don't you just hate it when your favorite character to write for is also the one that you find most frustrating to write for? Well, that's the situation here. I love writing for Abby and I love writing for Gibbs, but goshdarnit if they writing their dialog doesn't just drive me absolutely insane. I mean, I just...its really difficult to _write_ the way that Abby talks. All the inflection and emphasis and endearing rambling and...Abby-ness that there is to it. I mean, that's just something that you have to _hear_ to get, I think. Pauley does a wonderful job with the character. My gosh, not just anyone could do that part justice. And so much of Gibbs is nonverbal which shows the skill of, not only Mark Harmon, but the editors and camera crew. Its just...there's so much more than speaking when these two characters are communicating. So, I'm gonna count on your imagination to give this one life. I mean, I'm not saying that I wrote and awful story. What I'm saying is, you've gotta _visualize_ it. Also, this is a story that focuses on Gibbs and Abby as a pseudo-father-and-daughter kinda thing. So, if you are just sickened by that prospect, this might not be the place for you.

* * *

**Focal Character: **Abby

* * *

Abby sighed, it was hard to stay chipper when everything was going wrong.

Two days ago, at a crime scene, Tony had been shot. This, of course, sent Abby into total meltdown mode until Ziva assured her her that he had only been shot in the arm. She calmed down more when Tony shot her a grin and joked that it was only a flesh wound.

Gibbs took the agent off field duty until his arm was back to full capacity, so the better part of Tony's day was spent in Abby's lab. At first, Abby found his company amusing, but as time went one (and painkillers were consumed), he found herself understanding McGee and Ziva's seemingly perpetual frustration with their fellow agent. It was like there was a five-year-old in the lab...a six-foot-three-inch five-year-old who had the ability to pick locks. It didn't take long for the company to become too much for Abby to handle and, as much as it pained her to do so, she temporarily banned Tony from her lab.

Then, when another body turned up on Friday afternoon, it became apparent that they would be working through the weekend. Her heart fell in an instant.

That evening, she called her cousin who was supposed to pick her up from the airport, and explained the circumstances.

Now, it was Sunday morning and Abby didn't even feel like being in her lab, let alone work. Gibbs strode in with a Caff-Pow in his hand. He sat it in front of her while silently taking in her unusually down demeanor, "'S wrong, Abs?"

"Everything," she stated flatly.

"Somethin' wrong with the evidence?"

"No, Gibbs. Nothing is wrong with the evidence. The evidence is just _great_. Everything is _perfect_ with the evidence," she said, getting more and more frustrated.

"Then what's goin' on?" Gibbs asked gently.

"Do you even know what day it is, Gibbs?:

"Sunday."

"Not just any Sunday! It's Fathers' Day! And I had plans! I was going to Louisiana to see my dad and now I'm stuck here! And I can't even tell him 'happy Fathers' Day' because he took out the phone because he got angry at the talk-to-text and he doesn't do good with webcams and he checks his email about like _you_ do and I don't get much time off so I don't know when I'll get to see him again and I had been planning this for weeks and I know no one plans for a dead body to show up, but couldn't they have just waited until after Fathers' Day?" Abby ranted.

"Abs, Abs," Gibbs called to silence her.

She stopped talking and looked at him with the stare of a sad child and that look always reduced Gibbs's heart of stone to a puddle, "I'll make sure you get time to go see your family."

"Really? Gibbs, you're amazing!" she captured the stoic in a bone-crushing hug, "You're the greatest almost-dad that anyone could ever wish for.:

Gibbs smirked and returned her hug.

Even if she couldn't be with her real dad, Abby had her NCIS dad and, until he got his own national holiday, she could celebrate him on Fathers' Day.

* * *

**A.N.: **I hope I did them justice, here. Like I said, I'm not the greatest at writing for Abby and Gibbs. Lemme tell ya though, if you could see the paper copy of this story, where it gets to the rambling all that's there is frantic scribbles that (with painstaking study) might resemble words. I was writing it about as fast as Abby would speak it and, when you've got handwriting like mine, that's not such a good idea.

Also, not whining, just saying: I've got, like, a bajillion 'so-and-so added your story to their story alerts', which I love, but I have yet to get even one review. But, hey, at least you're reading it. That's all I could really hope for.


End file.
